Getting Stuff Done
by asphaltcowgrrl
Summary: Travis is an incurable flirt but Wes isn't about to let any whore steal his man. Part 4 of the Wes in a Dress series, follows I Feel Pretty/Upretty, You and I, and Dont Cha.


Waking up without seeing Travis sleeping beside him was not how Wes had hoped to start the day. Not that Travis had been spending every night beside him, not even close. On average, he only awoke to that beautiful man's presence once every ten or twelve days. Even so, Travis _had_ been there with him last night.

And then he'd gone home.

This had left Wes in an utterly foul mood. With a desperate growl, he threw the covers off and forced himself out of bed. He tossed his pilfered pair of Travis' sweatpants into the laundry then hesitated. Not knowing when his lover might return, he thought again and pulled them out of the basket. It went against every fiber of his being to wear dirty clothing, but it was a small price to pay to keep the scent of Travis' cologne nearby.

As much as he hated to even _think_ it, he understood one thing: he had it bad for that pain in the ass.

The hot shower hadn't helped temper his mood any so he made a detour to stop for coffee. Hoping that the distraction might help him get his shit together before facing Travis, he got out of the car and strode into the donut shop on the corner. A combined air of sugar, fried dough, and fresh brewed coffee hit him square in the face as he entered, immediately sloughing off some of the hurt he was feeling. He took a second, deeper breath and reveled in it. Even though he'd overhauled his eating habits years ago, evicting this kind of dietary disaster for the most part, the smell of a donut shop could always make him smile. It reminded him of childhood and happier times. Of when something as simple as a donut hole could make the world a better place.

"Can I help you?" The young girl behind the counter smiled at him, revealing a tiny crystal stud in her upper lip.

Wes smiled back, he couldn't help it. He secretly suspected he had a contact sugar high, but he let it ride for the moment. "Yes, a large coffee, black, to go, please."

"That it?" She looked up at him, her warm, brown eyes meeting his. "Donut? Bagel? An extra dose of java?"

He thought briefly of Travis, and how he should be the bigger man and bring his sometimes-lover a cup of coffee and maybe even a donut. Deciding otherwise, he shook his head and said, "No, no thank you."

She nodded and tapped on the register before looking up and meeting his eyes again. He noticed what a pretty girl she was, not excessively thin but pleasantly round in all the right places. Even the slight belly bulge only added to her charm. But what really caught his attention was her lipstick. Tilting his head to get a better perspective, he stared at her mouth.

"Two twenty-five," she said, for what he figured wasn't the first time.

"Oh, sorry," he muttered, digging his wallet out. "I was…"

"Staring at my mouth?" Her tone was light and teasing and her wide smile broadened further.

"Your lipstick is gorgeous," he confessed, not even concerned how that sounded. "What's it called?"

"It's by MAC and it's called 'Look at Her'. I guess it works."

"It did this time." Wes grinned, wondering if it'd have a similar effect on Travis. "And on second thought, could you add a couple donuts to that order? I suddenly feel the need for something sweet."

The girl nodded and turned to grab his donuts. "Any requests?"

"Surprise me," he said. There wasn't such a thing as a bad donut.

She proceeded to grab a couple of popular standards – one glazed, one sprinkle, something filled and one cruller. Turning, she handed him the bag and his coffee. "I think you could pull it off, too."

Wes blinked. "I'm sorry, what did you say?" _She couldn't possibly mean…?_

She gave him a knowing smile. "The lipstick. You could pull it off."

"Uh, thanks," he said, not sure what had just happened. "Have a good day."

"You, too," she said as he turned away from the counter. "Oh, and the nearest MAC store is four blocks down in the mall."

He almost stumbled as she said that, only just barely keeping his feet under him. Lifting a hand in thanks, he found himself tempted to stop by and see.

The encounter at the donut shop had lightened his mood even if it had left him even more off kilter than he already was. So, when he walked into the precinct that morning to find Travis propped against a wall, smiling at a very lovely, very voluptuous young woman, he found himself rooted to the floor, unable to move or speak. Was she the reason Travis had bolted out of his company so quickly last night? He'd sworn it wasn't anything but it had certainly felt like _something_ when he'd left without even a kiss goodbye. Travis _never_ left without a goodbye kiss or seven.

Steeling his nerve, he unglued his feet and strode down the hall like he owned it. As he approached Travis and the tramp, he called out, "Marks, we've got work to do. Snap to it."

Wes refused to meet his eye as he continued past, fearing all the confusion he was feeling would be obvious to the world. The words the woman spoke as he made his way through followed him all the way onto the floor or the Robbery-Homicide Division. "What a _bitch_. Your partner's on the rag, Travvy baby. I'd be careful around _her_ if I were you."

The hell she just said. Wes turned and stalked back to where Travis continued to lean on the wall, ogling the mouthy chit. "Excuse me," he said, catching and holding her gaze. "I'd watch who you called a bitch, you conniving little badge bunny. One of us here is armed and last I checked, it wasn't _you_." He switched his gaze to the mesmerizing orbs lodged in the infuriating face of his partner. "And _you_, if you do not get to your desk in the next five minutes, don't even bother coming around. Got it?"

Travis watched his partner storm off. He was partly amused to see Wes' jealousy so clearly exerting itself, but he had to admit, it also left him a tiny bit frightened. Wes was a crack shot and could probably take him out before he ever knew the barrel was aimed at him. "Look, baby, I've got to go. Wes is a bit… prickly… first thing in the morning, but I'll call you, okay?" He patted her arm affectionately in consolation.

"Okay," she purred, "but don't forget me."

"I won't," he lied, waving as he went after his partner, his thoughts fully on Wes.

"It's about fucking time, Marks," Wes growled when the shadow of his partner fell across his desk. When Travis didn't respond or move to sit, he looked up. "What?"

Travis' grin brightened the entire room with its brilliance. "Well, well, Wes_leigh_, I thought you only came out at night. Guess I was wrong."

Wes' mouth tightened. "Do _not_ call me that," he said, referring to the little play on his name that Travis had come up with one night a few weeks back. Not that anyone would pick up on what Travis was implying, that wasn't what was bothering him so much. It was that Travis had taken to calling him this when he was stripping the dress from his body. When he was paying homage to the fantasy world they created together in the privacy of his home. When he was preparing to make Wes_leigh_ scream his name into the night. _That_ was what put him on edge so much.

Travis took his seat across from Wes, frowning. "You're mad at me."

"You're damn right I'm mad at you," he seethed.

"Why? What did I do to piss you off this time?" He looked genuinely confused.

"If you don't know, I'm not telling you, Marks. And definitely not here. Can we please just get to work?"

"Only if you tone the hostility down from impending nuclear war to terrorist threat." He shook his head and opened the file he'd left on it the night before.

"Whatever you say, Travvy baby." Wes snorted angrily and opened a folder of his own. Today was one of those days when he should have just stayed in bed.

"You hungry, man? I could eat right now." Travis patted his exquisite abs to punctuate his point.

"When aren't you hungry," Wes asked, not expecting an answer.

"When I'm getting laid," he replied.

"If you're suggesting something," Wes said, eyes still fixed on the financial documents in front of him, "you're barking up the wrong tree. You go eat. I have an errand to run."

Travis stood and walked away, never once saying a word. Wes' heart lodged in his throat, causing him to wonder if he'd been too harsh with him earlier. He hadn't meant to be such a prick, but he hadn't been able to stop himself either. "This is what I get for caring," he said to his desk.

Sitting in his car, he looked out at the nearly empty parking lot. Just past noon on a Tuesday probably wasn't the mall's busiest time of the day, but the emptiness surprised him anyway. Might make it easier to get in and make his purchase without anyone noticing. He had to wonder if this really would make him feel any better or only settle in later and make it worse. Deciding he didn't care, he left the car behind and entered the mall.

His quick look at the map got him headed in the right direction. Quite by accident, he'd parked in the perfect place because he found the MAC store just a few shops down on his left. Hesitating for only a second, he swallowed his pride and entered.

The store was brightly lit and done up in an entirely black and white motif. It took Wes' eyes a moment to adjust to the brightness. He browsed a bit, acting casual, looking at eye shadows and blush before making his way to what he'd come for. That lipstick.

"Can I help you?"

The voice came from behind and startled him a bit. He really needed to get it together and pay more attention. Admittedly, he was nervous. The last time he'd gone into a store to actually shop for makeup, he'd been nineteen and in college. He'd not ever been a highly paid lawyer or a well-respected detective like he was now. That old guilt crept up from his gut again and he forcibly shoved it back down.

"Actually, yes. My uh, girlfriend, had mentioned a lipstick she'd seen and liked. I was looking for it. Her birthday's coming up and I thought it would make a nice surprise." _You lying son of a bitch_, he chastised himself.

"Did she tell you the name or just a color?" The saleslady smiled at him almost as brightly as the overhead lights.

"She did, I think it was called 'Look at Her'." He prayed she bought this line of bullshit. Even as a cop he wasn't sure how they'd handle the situation if they discovered he was shopping for himself. Maybe they wouldn't care, but it was possible they would care. A lot.

The saleslady looked him over carefully. "If her coloring is anything like yours, it'll be a lovely shade on her. This way."

Letting out a relieved breath, Wes followed her to the other side of the display. She pointed out a palette of six lipsticks that ranged from a soft pink to a vibrant red. The color he was after fell somewhere in-between.

"This," he pointed at the red, "might be too dark, but I think she'll love the others. Thank you."

The saleslady nodded and led him over to the register to check him out. Astounded that he'd just dropped nearly fifty dollars on _lipstick_, he decided to forgo lunch and head back to the station. He was almost out of the mall when a card shop caught his eye.

"Maybe I should apologize," he muttered, walking into the store despite thinking Travis should apologize first and knowing that wouldn't ever happen, not in this lifetime.

An hour later he sat in another parking lot in another part of town. Cops wandered by him on their way to and from the station. He'd taken forever to pick out an apology card and almost said to hell with it when the perfect one found its way into his hands. It didn't say he was in the wrong but it didn't accuse the receiver of being in the wrong either. It simply said 'Let's make up'. In the end, that was what sold him on the card. Forget the blame, let's just move on.

He'd signed the card and used a dab of his new lipstick to seal the deal with a kiss. Wes was still a bit shocked he'd dared to put it on in the station's lot, but he'd managed to do it discreetly enough no one noticed. Travis would've been proud of his daring.

"It's now or never, Mitchell," he said, exiting his car yet again and heading into the dragon's den.

It'd taken half the day, but Wes had finally found his equilibrium and had confidence that the rest of the day would go much better than the first half had. Even if it meant swallowing his pride and giving in. Anything to get past what had happened between him and Travis the night before. He was smiling when he entered the precinct, Travis' card stashed in the inside pocket of his suit jacket alongside his new present to himself.

He turned the corner and the smile faltered, then fell. The bimbo was back and this time, she had her hands on his man. Inside the building, in a hallway filled with cops of all ranks, she was running her hand along the length of Marks' bicep, most likely cooing her approval. Wes carefully gathered every ounce of control he possessed and walked straight past the two flirting in the hall and turned left, instead of right. Getting onto the elevator, he rode it down to the ground floor. Quickly looking to make sure Jonelle wasn't anywhere around, he slipped off the elevator and into the seldom used men's room.

Wes removed the card he'd bought from his pocket and tore it in half, then in half again, just for good measure. Angrily, he stuffed it into the trash. "Goddamn cheating _bastard_," he shouted to the empty room.

"Fuck, Mitchell," he reprimanded himself, "that's out of line. He's _not _your husband or your boyfriend, he's _just_ your partner. And even though you let him fuck you on occasion it doesn't mean he has to be faithful to you. _You _are the one who's so pathetic you can't get another date."

Roughly, he ran both hands through his hair before collapsing against the wall. "I'm even a prick to myself," he muttered. "Why doesn't that surprise me?"

"Because you're too hard on yourself, detective."

"Shit," he said, startled. "Where the hell did you come from?"

Jonelle smiled a crooked sort of grin. "I was in the last stall."

Wes blinked. "Why? This is the men's room! Wait, it _is _the men's room, isn't it?" He suddenly doubted himself in this aggravated state.

Laughing, Jonelle nodded. "It is."

"And you're in here because?" He lifted an eyebrow, waiting for her response.

"That's my secret," she said, winking.

_Speaking of secrets…_ "So, you heard all that then, I suppose."

"I did," she agreed. "But I'm not saying anything. Since I've been there, done him, I really can't throw stones, can I?"

"I guess not." He couldn't look her in the face now that she knew he'd been screwing his partner in his downtime.

"So, a little advice, Wes. Travis can be a dog, but like most dogs, he can be loyal, too. The trick is to show him who the alpha is. If you want him to respect you – and your relationship – then you need to lay down the law. Got it?"

He contemplated reminding her that they weren't in anything even resembling a relationship but stopped before he did so. Maybe this was the reason why? Jonelle could be right. It was possible that all Marks needed was for Wes to assert his dominance, even temporarily. "Yeah, I got it. Thanks, Jonelle."

"Anytime, Wes." She came closer and put a hand on his arm. "I'm not sure what's going on between you two or how it started, but if it's important you need to make sure that _whore_ knows who Travis belongs to."

"Whore?"

She made a face. "You know, that perky little badge hopper that's been hanging around this past week? I think she's made her way through half the homicide division already. She seems particularly interested in Travis all of a sudden."

Wes grunted. "I've noticed."

"You want me to beat the bitch down? I could you know. And you wouldn't even owe me later, this one would be on me." The smirk that crossed her face made him wonder if the tramp in question had come between her and a lover before.

"No," Wes chuckled, "I can handle this myself. All I need is the right attitude, right?"

Jonelle smiled. "Exactly."

Travis looked up as the sound of a familiar gait met his ears. He'd been waiting for Wes to return from his lunchtime errand so he could apologize – for whatever it was he'd done – so they could move on and actually start speaking again. Wes was coming from the wrong direction, however, leaving him a bit confused.

"Marks, lunch is over. Get your ass to your desk, pronto." He turned to the thorn in his side and glared at her. "And you can remove yourself from our station. Permanently."

She looked him up and down critically. "I so don't think so." Looping her arm through Travis', she flashed him a smug look. "Detective Marks and I have _business_ to attend to."

Wes bit his bottom lip trying to tamp down on the rising hurt he felt inside. He caught sight of Jonelle out of the corner of his eye. She must've followed him upstairs, curious to see the coming confrontation. As much as he wanted to be pissed at her voyeurism, he was instead empowered by the double thumbs up she gave him from behind Travis' back. "Interesting because Travis and I had some _business_ to attend to last night and yet he ran out on me before we could even begin. If that was your fault, you had better get out of my sight before I find out. If it wasn't, I still don't want to see your skanky whore ass around this precinct. Women like you only cause problems, breaking up relationships and partnerships, and making it a thousand times harder to do our jobs. Ya feel me, bitch?"

Her mouth fell open, too shocked to retort. She looked up at Travis, who also wore an expression of surprise. "You going to let him talk to me like that, baby?"

Travis looked from his hanger-on to his partner and back. He must've seen something in Wes' expression that made his mind up for him. "Yeah, actually, see, I have to work with him? And he carries a gun and shit so…"

Her eyes widened at what she was hearing. "You asshole," she screamed. "You lying bastard, how could you do this to me?"

Without looking at Travis, Wes motioned to one of the gawping uniforms standing nearby. "Officer? You think you could escort this lovely young… _lady_ out of the building?"

The uniform snapped out of his daze and rushed to the woman's side. "Absolutely, Detective Mitchell."

"Good man," Wes encouraged.

The two detectives watched the troublesome chit as she was escorted out of the building. Once she was no longer visible, Travis turned to Wes and put a hand on his shoulder. "Thank you, man, for getting…"

"Shut the fuck up, Marks. I don't even want to hear about how you couldn't get rid of her and how none of it was your fault. We've been partners too long for me to buy into that line of bullshit. I was pissed at you when I got here this morning and _this_ – this didn't help your case any. So, if you want what we've got going to keep going, you'd better figure how the hell to make it up to me and fast or you're going to be shit out of luck. Got it?"

Travis stared at him for what seemed like forever. Slowly, his shocked expression morphed into an appraising smile. "Well, Wes_leigh_ Ann Mitchell, I never would've believed you had it in you."

"Oh shut the hell up," Wes growled, praying none of the lingering cops had heard what Travis had just called him. "Let's get back to work."

"Yes, sir," Travis replied. For once, there wasn't even a trace of snark hidden in his tone. Maybe he had gotten his point across after all.

Wes looked up as they entered the area set aside for the robbery-homicide division and caught Jonelle's eye. She gave him a grin and a wink before disappearing back down the hall. He couldn't stop the return grin, even though she had already turned away from him. Who knew laying down the law would have met with such success?

"I've been thinking, Wes," Travis said, drawing his attention back to his partner.

"About?"

"Maybe we need to go shopping for some new underwear. Whatever you're wearing today is much too tight."

Stomping down on his urge to react angrily to Travis' insinuation, he decided on a different approach. One proven to be much more effective when dealing with his continually horny partner. Parking his backside on the edge of Travis' desk, his thigh resting just inches from those long, talented fingers, he bent towards Travis and whispered, "What I'm wearing today happens to be nothing more than a scrap of lace in a shade of orange awfully close to the lipstick I bought over lunch this afternoon. And if you'd ever like to see either of them on my body, I'd shut your mouth for the rest of the afternoon. Capiche?"

Travis swallowed audibly, fingers gripping the edge of his desk. "You know, Holly was right about one thing."

"Holly?" Wes leaned even closer. "You'd better not be referring to that tramp that's been trying to steal you away from me."

He held up a hand, begging for patience. "I am, but hear me out. She said you were a bitch – I know, I know – but she's right. One of my foster moms always used to say, 'Yeah, I'm a bitch but only bitches get stuff done.' And honestly? You. Get. Shit. Done."

Wes leaned back, satisfied smirk firmly in place. Travis had gotten the message and maybe, just maybe, he could forgive him for this. But not tonight. No, not quite yet. He was going to make the boy suffer.

"So," Travis ventured his voice a bit wobbly. "You said orange, huh? Like navel orange or sherbet orange?"

"More like this." Wes reached into his pocket and pulled out his lunchtime purchase. Opening it, he pointed out the shade he'd been talking about, watching Travis' eyes widen with possibilities.

"I like that," he said, looking up to meet Wes' gaze.

"I'm sure you do." _And when I arrive tomorrow in my navy suit and orange tie, I bet you're going to blow a fuse. _ He knew the thought was cruel and would torture Travis every time he looked at him, but paybacks were a bitch, as they say. And as Travis had just told him, _bitches get stuff done_. The only difference here is, what was going to get done was Wes. In every god damn way Travis could come up with, if he was lucky.

And he was feeling lucky.


End file.
